i'll drown when i see you
by QuietLittleVoices
Summary: "It's raining," he says. ((endverse))


"It's raining," he says. He's not looking at you, sitting cross-legged on the old rug you salvaged from outside a department store in Ohio three months back. You look at it and you feel like laughing, a broken and hysterical sound, thinking about how everything went to shit so fast. You look at it and you feel like crying.

You look out the window but you don't say anything, not yet. Through the tattered curtains you can see blue sky and sunlight, barely covered by the soft white clouds. You look at him and his eyes are closed.

"Where is it raining?" you ask, because it's not here. It's nowhere near here and neither is he, not really.

He smiles and presses his palms against the balding rug. "Canada," he tells you. "Up North. It should be snowing. There was a heat wave in the summer… it threw everything off. The animals left and they didn't come back." He tilts his head like he's listening to something that you can't hear, and you know that he is. "They'll come back."

You can't count how many times you've walked in on him like this in the last few days alone, listening to things far away – seeing things that you can't see. Sometimes you wonder if it's the drugs and then you realize it doesn't matter. If he can still hear the other angels, still tap in to the little radio in his head, then let him be. If it's not real then what does it matter, at the end of the world? You could both be dead by the time the sun went down.

"Sit with me," he tells you. Without thinking, you obey. You sit down next to him on the floor, pulling your legs under you, and you look out the window. Then you look at him, with his head tilted slightly back and his eyes closed. The sun makes tracks on his face and he almost looks peaceful. You know it's not true but it's nice to pretend.

"Is it still raining?" you ask him.

He doesn't answer right away, frowning instead. "I don't know."

"Why are the animals scared of the rain?" you ask him.

"I don't know."

"Are you scared of the rain?"

He opens his eyes, just for a moment, and glances over at you. You take the few seconds that you get to memorise the blue of his eyes, stashing it away again. They were brighter than the image you'd held in your mind since the last time he'd looked at you. He closes his eyes again. "Only at night."

"Why at night?" You're not sure why you ask. You're not sure why it matters, but something in the silence is pushing you to know the answer – it makes you believe that the answer could be everything. It could change the way the world is, could save you both.

He doesn't answer, and you suppose that's answer enough.

You want to move your hand an inch to the right and brush your fingers against the side of his palm but you don't. You want to move a foot to the right and kiss him but you don't. You just want him, so much that it's like an ache in your bones, like you've always wanted him – like you were built to want him – but you don't move. You sit next to him in the silence and you wait, but you're not sure for what. You wait for the silence to take you, to engulf both of you. You wait for him to move closer. You wait for the storm to pass, for the animals to come back. You wait.

He tilts his head back, exposing his throat, and you want to kiss it, want to make blue and purple marks on his skin. He laughs quietly and you don't know why, but that's not surprising. You don't know why he does much of anything anymore. Never really did. "Is this what love is?" he asks. "The stories I heard, before, they said love will save you. They said it was beautiful." He looks over to you again, just a glance. Shorter than before. He looks sad. "They didn't say it would burn you alive."

You shake your head. "This isn't love," you tell him. "I loved you, once. Sometimes I think I still do." You want to say more but you don't know what would make this better, if anything could. You turn away from him and you look out the window. The clouds are gathering and turning grey, blotting out the sun.

"Good." He nods. "That's good." His fingers brush against the side of your palm and you want more, you want to cover his hand with yours and twine your fingers together. You want to never let go. You don't move. "I think I loved you, too."

You swallow thickly but you don't say anything, can't around the lump in your throat. Because this was all you wanted so long ago, because this could have been everything to you. And now it means nothing more than a hallow shell, like a cocoon without a butterfly. A promise of beauty, of life that left before you even saw it. You try not to think about what could have been but it's etched in the walls, it's more than you can take.

"Why only at night?" you ask him again, like you'd never said anything after that, like that was still the most important thing to ask. You think maybe it is. You think maybe the answer could say everything you couldn't.

Lightning illuminates the small room, throwing his pale skin and dark hair into stark contrast. You think he looks beautiful like that, like he's holding a storm in under his skin. The thunder clap that follows shakes your foundations, but maybe that's just the cabin rocking in the winds. The rain starts pouring in sheets without prompting or pre-amble. You close your eyes and you listen to it dance on the tin roof and you hear him sigh.

"It's raining," he says. It's always raining.


End file.
